sell your body to the night
by leoblooms
Summary: When you find yourself in desperation, you go to the one person you trust the most, right? Even if that person could get you into more trouble than you initially hoped for. TW for mentions of rape, abuse, drug use and violence.


What the hell happened to Ferris Bueller?

It was a question that got asked only a few months into the college freshman year of the people who graduated with him. It was a question that got asked by faculty at his old high school. It was a question that was asked by his two closest friends. Or, at least, they once were. Ferris Bueller had left a sort of imprint of the lives of many, be it from his advice or from his shenanigans. People remembered his name. And they didn't forget it either. But there was something peculiar about this question. It got asked so frequently, but still didn't have an answer. No one truly knew what Ferris was currently up to.

"Alright, buddy, pay up. You know I don't come cheap." Ferris pulled his jeans back on, eyes scouring the room for his pay.

"It's on the table." The man groaned, still sprawled out on that shitty motel bed, dark hair disheveled and chest still rising and falling with each heavy breath. Ferris could hardly look back at him, son of a bitch was practically relishing in the moment like hooking up in a motel was a religious experience. Like he was proud of what he'd done. It's not like he did anything that Ferris had never done or had done to him before. The guy needed to get off his high horse. He had sex in some back alley, two dollar motel with a trashy prostitute and talked a lot of shit about his stupid fucking wife and her twisted obsession to break his already blue balls. During sex. Made it a little hard for Ferris to even begin to enjoy himself.

He walked over to the table, a slight limp in his step. That prick was unimpressive in bed (no wonder his wife didn't sleep with him; he knew anyone could have a better orgasm alone than with him) but he was quite thicker than his average client, who were typically the either thin or small cocked men who paid to get laid. He swiped the $400, counted it-it looked like a hell of a lot more when it was only in twenties-and shoved it into his pocket along with the $800 he made earlier. He really didn't come cheap, but people still paid his "$200 for the whole show" prices.

"Where's my hit?" Ferris asked, looking over the the table for the small bag. No matter how hard he looked, there was nothing there.

"What hit?"

"You told me that you'd fork over a hit if I charged you less for 3 hours. You broke $200 off my regular price. I want my hit." Now, here's the thing about his job. He hated the sex, which was odd because that was a pretty big part of the job. He usually never enjoyed himself because it was the same routine. Every now and then, he'd get someone who paid for a long session just because they wanted to make him feel good. They'd break from The Routine of making out against the wall, quick bit of oral, then bending him over and fucking him without even bothering to help him come. They'd make it fun, pay $50 more to use toys or, you know, actually go down on him or- hey, just a fun thought that nobody seems to try- include more rimming. Seriously, he could not understand the men who found it awkward to try it out. They didn't know how fun it was, clearly.

What he did like about the job is the amount of drug dealers he fucked. They went after him first because they saw those bloodshot eyes and that crumbling resolve and knew that if they offered crack, he was going to take and discount it. Chicago was loaded with dealers, be it the smooth pros who evaded police but still made a stop to fuck that pretty boy on the corner in the back of their vintage Ferrari's and Caddies or the shallow, slowly fading drug addicts who made that shit out of baking soda in their basements. And when they didn't offer even though he knew that they had what he needed on them, he tended to ham up the sex, make it seem like he was really enjoying himself and nine times out of ten, he got what he wanted.

Not this time, despite putting what he thought was his best show yet. He was especially proud of his over-enthusiastic moaning during the ritualistic blowjob when he had his hair pulled and got called a "pretty little cock slut", as if he'd never gotten that one before.

"Sweetheart," Ferris felt like puking. Stupid fucking condescending bastard. "You were good and all, but you ain't gettin' free shit from me." _Is it rude to murder him with a lamp, _Ferris was actually thinking that it was a good idea.

"Why don't we compromise? I'll give you $200 straight up for it."

The man laughed that same throaty laugh that he had when Ferris started his usual round of forced dirty talk. "I charge double than what you've got in your pocket. What else you got?"

"What else do you want?"

"Pay me 600- I know you've got it- and another hour with your mouth on my cock and it's yours."

Ferris just smiled that wicked smile that he hadn't recalled using since senior year when he snagged his best friend's dad's pride and joy to ditch school on a "sick day". He was not only very good at his job, but he was just as manipulative. He had been put in compromising situations many times. He bent the world to cater to his very desires and he'd be damned if he couldn't do it once more. "I'll give you your $400 back and let you do whatever you want with me for another hour."

There was a silence that drowned both men in the room. The kind of silence that Ferris hated because he knew he was only a few seconds from putting up with this sleazebag for another hour but getting his hit or getting brutally assaulted and having to go and suck at the cock of some other man for what he so desperately craved. Then that man smiled. "Your hit's in my jacket pocket on the right inside pocket." Ferris genuinely considered pouncing for the jacket and booking it. "Now, you little whore," Oh, how original. "I've still got you for another hour."

Well, a deal is a deal. Ferris longed for what was in that pocket. But he ignored it and shuffled his way back to the bed, fumbling to remove his jeans yet again. He tried to bump and brush his own cock in order to be somewhat aroused. This hour was going to be far too long.

Ferris reflected on his life one night as he leaned against a lamp post, the knockoff crack that went for cheap pumping through his veins. He remembered a young man on his walk to an inn a few blocks away that he had been called to- dealer said this client needed something and needed it quickly. That young man was named Cameron. Gangly, shy, self-conscious kid he last saw at graduation. He remembered making out with him in the boys bathroom after drinking a little too much spiked punch. Cameron was rare. Because he genuinely believed Ferris would do something good with his life. He praised him, but not to the extent that some others did. Ferris believed that Cameron only praised him because he wanted to see some side of himself in Ferris' personality. Cameron admitted that during their drunken encounter on their last night together.

"With that personality," Cameron would always start as they sat together on the park bench in the middle of the night thinking about their future, "You could become an actor. Or a film major. You could be an entertainer, Ferris." Bet he never saw Ferris becoming a drug-addicted prostitute, but that was beyond the point.

Cameron was good. He saw nothing in himself. That boy was elbows deep in self-confidence issues. He never thought about his future, all he really wanted to was lay in bed for a solid twenty years where he could feel sorry for himself in solidarity. But Ferris knew that even if Cameron was wandering through life in a fashion similar to a small child in a shopping mall who can't find their mother, he was probably doing better than Ferris ever could at this point.

The inn he was called to was quaint. It smelled like semi-decent food and burning fires. Better than sex, cheap alcohol and sweat. There was a man sitting a rather nice looking seat that was in front of the lobby's fireplace. Blue dress shirt fit nicely around his relatively muscular arms, black dress pants that just looked like they would highlight his ass nicely, slightly disheveled dark hair and a rather youthful face. He turned rather expectantly, the clear indicator that that was his client, and when Ferris caught a good look at him, he didn't exactly know which way he wanted to run.

He should have stopped reminiscing about Cameron. Because there he was. It was like just the thought was a curse. And did he want to run towards him, embrace him and remember the good days, or did he want to turn and run out of there? No, his dealer even said Cam was an urgent case. He took in a deep breath, trying to relax his pounding heart and made his way to his newest client.

Cameron took one look at Ferris and felt a wave of shock and horror and concern wash over him. The bright-eyed boy who lived on the edge and did whatever he did because he felt like it had become his ambiguously titled escort. The boy who seemingly everyone fell in love with because they didn't seem have a choice was stalking his way over to him, eyes dark and bloodshot, expression unreadable. For the first time, he wasn't able to recognize Ferris.

"Mr. Frye?" Ferris said once they stood face to face. Cameron swallowed hard and nodded, sheepish about the situation. Without a second thought, Ferris seized his hand and lead him down what appeared to be the hall towards the rooms. "What room are we in?"

"2-shit, sorry, not 2-12." Cameron felt foolish as he felt himself get dragged down the hall. This was happening and he was scared as hell.

They both ended up on the bed together-that one was a given. What wasn't is that Cameron didn't kiss him, didn't even try. No touching, no kissing, just talking. They sat side by side on the bed, trying to catch up. It was all just a relief for Ferris who felt as though he deserved a break. That is, until Cameron dropped a bombshell on him.

"You want to become one of us?" Ferris asked the question as though he had a gang behind him.

"Ferris, you don't understand. My dad waited until I was of legal age and then booted me so he couldn't get arrested. He's got mom brainwashed. She didn't even try to stop it." Cameron was truly the mark of a broken man. "I've got nothing except a handful of 1 dollar bills."

"How did you land a place here?" The place was swanky and if Cam was running around with so little cash, he couldn't explain it.

"My dad arranged a night here before he booted me. Then mom refused to go. He never cancelled, so I'm under his name." Cameron took a sharp breath, getting used to it all. His entire body felt numb. "He pays for everything in advance. This isn't costing me a penny. But back to the point. Ferris, how do I get into this?"

"Cam, this is dangerous business. You deal with a lot of shit in this profession."

"How much worse could it be than my regular life?" It was the sorrow, the complete helplessness in his voice that told him that he was being entirely serious. Cameron was desperate for help and the only way he saw it fitting was to resort to selling himself. He didn't want a hookup, he wanted to become one of them.

"You're more open to rape, murder, assault, being arrested. One wrong move and you're done have to be sure about what you're doing. We can't really expect to walk out and leave the past behind us. It follows you everywhere. Get caught and it literally follows you."

"Ferris, please. I don't have a choice. I need this." Cameron had fallen far too far to turn back. He could easily get a job that paid minimum wage, but how was he supposed to support himself on that? With this, it was at least $1000 a day. Sure, there was risk, but he had to do something.

"You're absolutely sure?" Cameron nodded. "Alright, then I'll give you the jist of it. You have to find a good spot. Back alleys in populated parts of the cities are a hit. You're a little shy, but this job needs you to be open and flirty. You have to be ready for anything. Scope out who you see. They always come to you first."

"Damn, that's a lot. What else?"

"You have to be conscious of prices. Whatever they want, have a price for it. Or if they cough up something, have something ready for what they're paying you. They hand over $30, that's a handjob with little enthusiasm. $50 gets you one with enthusiasm. Anywhere close to $100 gets them oral. Try to always put your all into that one. It's not too bad given that you're gonna give up to 6 of those in an hour. You're new to this. Prove yourself and you can charge more. $100 and higher is the whole show. Start charging per hour. They want you for one, ask for $150. Keep adding $50 by the hour. If they want to get kinky, accept nothing less than $250. If the kink is really fucking weird, charge more."

"So make sure I ask about kinks before I commit myself to that?"

"Please do. I got stuck with this freak that was desperate to have me recite sections of the Christian Bible." Ferris shook his head. "It's not exactly stamped on my chest that I'm Jewish, but it was really awkward."

Cameron cringed. "And it can be worse?"

"Yeah. But not all kinks are bad. Charge more for the ones you can't get behind. I made a pretty penny from that guy."

"This sounds horrifyingly confusing."

"It is. Write it all down, study it, then get on out there." Ferris stood up from the bed, but Cameron reached out and grabbed his wrist. "What?"

"What if I'm not appealing? What if no one comes to me? Who out there likes a transgender prostitute?"

The corner of Ferris' lips folded into a smile. "Cam, listen carefully. Out there, where desperate men long to get some escape from their wives, they don't care what parts they're working with. They might seem a little surprised at first, but you respond nicely and give them what they want, they'll flip you and take you from behind anyway."

"Not exactly settling, but I guess I can work with it."

"And you're handsome, Cam. You've got a good look about you. You've got that pretty boy image that the guys out there," He flourished his hand towards the window, attempting to indicate Chicago. "Can't get enough of."

Cameron relaxed slightly, even if relaxing is tough when you're going to go be a prostitute. "Thank you, Ferris. It was good seeing you again."

Ferris bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You too, Cam."

"You got anywhere to stay tonight?" He asked. Ferris shook his head. He never usually did. "Wanna stay with me?"

"That would be incredible." Ferris kicked off his shoes, shook his hand a little bit in order to indicate to Cameron that he was indeed still holding onto him- to which he promptly let go, went to the other side and climbed into the bed. "Damn, I haven't slept in such a nice bed in a while."

"Feels like I haven't either." Cameron fumbled under the blanket, finding Ferris' hand and holding it tightly. "Are we going to be okay?"

"We'll be fine."


End file.
